


Drips and Drabbles

by Deshah



Category: DCU, Homestuck, The Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones, Tortall - Tamora Pierce, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Asexual Character, Crossover, Designation dysphoria, Dysphoria, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Since alpha &etc aren't really genders, i just really like crossovers okay, implied crossover - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2018-10-22 04:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10689330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deshah/pseuds/Deshah
Summary: Bits and pieces of DC stuff that don't fit anywhere else.Latest:A foray into A/B/O territory. Specifically, Tim Drake is designated omega and miserable for it.





	1. Tim Is Asexual

Timothy Drake is asexual. It was simple enough to realize; he fantasized about holding Steph’s hand, maybe kissing her, and when he mentioned it in passing in a conversation with Bernard, he'd given him a weird look and said _dude, you're such a kid_ before talking about all the things that he'd fantasized about doing with Darla. (Bernard doesn't mention the things he's fantasized doing with Tim, because he figures Tim wouldn't appreciate that, even if he _did_ do sexual fantasies.)

 

He tells Steph “I find the idea of having sex at all, with anyone, completely repulsive.” She purses her lips, gives him a truly confused look, and says “Well, as long as it’s not _me_.”

 

It wasn't like Steph was his only ever relationship. He found out pretty quickly that other people weren't as understanding as she was, though. It was always “if you _really_ valued me you'd have sex with me” and “what are you, broken?” and, most annoying, “who hurt you?” as if it had anything to do with that. One boyfriend persistently tried to guilt him into sex until Steph finally talked him into dumping him.

When he enters a relationship with Jason, he tells him straight-up. He's had enough “if you're not interested in sex then why'd you lead me on like that?” to last a lifetime. 

“I'm asexual.”

A tension so ingrained that he hadn't even noticed it suddenly eases out of Jason's shoulders. “Oh, thank fuck.”

“Wait, what?” He narrows his eyes. “Are you saying you don't want to have sex with me?” He’s actually kind of offended.

“Yes. No, I mean-- I'm asexual too.”

“Oh.” Tim relaxes, smiles his little half-smile. “That's good, then. Want to cuddle?”

A blinding grin -- Robin-grin, the kind he feels so lucky to be the recipient of, and-- “Fuck yeah, Babybird, that sounds perfect.”

It really does. 

 

(And then they cuddled on the couch and probably made out a little, in that calm leisurely way that comes with having no sex drive.)


	2. Janet's Journals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have seen a number of fics in which Tim has learned things from his mother that she can't possibly have had the time to teach him, so here's a solution. (Largely inspired by the fic A Mother’s Love by heartslogos)

Janet writes instruction manuals in her journals.

_My dearest Timothy,_ each entry begins, in her sharp, angular handwriting. What follows will be _today we'll talk about manipulation,_ or _the quickest way to bring a man to his knees…_ Sometimes she talks about masks and sometimes she talks about the intricacies of social interaction; it's something that she struggled with for years, so why should he? Once, she spent twenty pages on makeup how-to diagrams.

(Sometimes she talks about herself, and her past.

She never talks about her husband.)

 

After her death, Jack can’t quite bring himself to read Janet’s journals. They had been precious to her as little else was, and he doesn't feel any more right to them than he has to her other most precious thing -- “Hey, Dad.” -- her son.

Jack gazes at the child he never wanted, standing before him and looking awkwardly hopeful. Tim has inherited his mother’s build and grace and fine-boned features. (He's gotten nothing from Jack, of course.) He looks back down at the book in his hands, and sighs. Tim wants him to be his dad. Maybe even expects it. But that's not something Jack has ever been able to do.

“Here,” he says finally, holding the journal out. “It was your mother's. This whole box is full of her journals.” He indicated a small box directly to the left of his wheelchair distinguishable from the others by the uniformity of its contents. “She… would have wanted you to have them.” He grimaces a bit, saying it. “Read them or don’t. I wash my hands of it.” He turns, wheeling away, and pretends not to notice Tim's disappointment at his leaving.

Tim takes the journals up to his room, and Jack doesn't think about them again.

 

  
Tim doesn’t think his father knows what he did for him when he gave him his mother’s journals. He doesn’t think his father would have done it, if he did.

Tim knows that his father doesn’t love him. He can remember being terrified of the man, even if it seems silly now, with his Robin training and Jack wheelchair-bound. He can remember the cold eyes he sees nearly every day, now, and hating them because they took his mother from him. He is more certain of this than ever. His mother would not have left if his father had not somehow made her. The journals make him sure of that.

 

Ives was bored. He had come over to Tim’s house for school-related reasons, and Tim had invited him to stay over -- before promptly passing out. He wasn’t about to wake the kid -- even though they were the same age, Tim always seemed younger -- god knew that he didn’t get enough sleep. At the same time, it was too early to join him in slumber and he wasn’t going to just sit here and do nothing. Or worse, do _homework_. So he sat down at Tim’s desk and picked up the book laying on it. It was novel-sized and -shaped, dark blue with no markers. He opened it and -- oh. It’s a journal. Not Tim’s, it’s not his handwriting, and… Tim wouldn’t address his entries to _himself. My dearest Timothy,_ the page he’d opened to began, _Your father has been on my mind recently, so this time I’m going to talk about lies. Lying convincingly is an art you’re going to need to learn, but don’t forget how to lie unconvincingly as well. This ties into what I’ve said about manipulation;_ \-- Ives stopped there. This was an extreme violation of privacy. But first -- he turned to the inside cover of the book. _Janet Drake,_ read that angular script, along with an address and phone number. So. Tim’s mother wrote him journals full of lying and manipulation instructions. His admittedly low opinion of her went up by a couple of notches. At least she’d been _thinking_ of Tim when she’d been galavanting around the world. That was more than his dad seemed to do now, and he _lived_ here. 

 

Tim doesn’t remember the sound of his mother’s voice. He only remembers her face because of pictures. What he really has to remember her by is her writing, and in that sense, her voice is unforgettable to him. Despite the way each entry begins, Janet’s tone is not warm. In writing, she is crisp and clear, cold and precise. 

 

Not all of the entries are designed to impart life lessons. Sometimes, Janet talks about the places she visits, local history and mythology. She will ramble about various cultures, going on tangents concerning religion and government. It is only on these subjects that she would deviate from her exact, concise, and structured writing style. He could tell that anthropology was her true passion; it was only in these entries that her voice held any warmth.


	3. Chrestomanci, Chrestomanci, Chrestomanci

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any story can be a Chrestomanci story if you try hard and believe in yourself.

Tim hates fighting magic users. He especially hates fighting large groups of magic users with unknown abilities and no backup, armed with nothing but his bo staff and utility belt, because he'd stumbled upon them in civies and promptly been grabbed to be some kind of sacrifice. Not a virgin sacrifice, though; Steph took care of that back when they were still teenagers. Not that he was telling them that.

Oh well. Nothing for it. With the Supers off planet and his emergency communicator malfunctioning thanks to all the magic in the air, he'll just have to figure a way out of this himself. Smirking a little to himself, because he's an unrepentant nerd and he knows how much it shows, he thinks of the book in his abandoned backpack and murmurs _Chrestomanci Chrestomanci Chrestomanci,_ just for luck. Then unties the last of his bonds and sets to work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno, which Chrestomanci should this call?


	4. Tortall Slots Surprisingly Easily Into DC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fusion! Sorry there isn't more of this one. (Yet.)

The Rogue – George Cooper – completely changed the underground of his city when he unified it and imposed rules. Crime became more organised; it became safer to be a sex worker or a thief. Think Red Hood, because there were some crimes he punished with death – the rapists, the child-killers. Most people who break his rules? He lets them off with a warning and one less ear. The next time he takes the other ear. The next, the head.

That was then. Now, he calls himself the Whisper Man, information broker and spymaster nominally on the side of the heroes. He is semi-secretly backed by Myles Olau and, in his civilian identity, is married to Myles’ adoptive daughter, Alanna, who is a respected hero – the Lioness – in her own right.

 

The Lioness is the only healing meta in the Justice League, and she hates it.

Her healing was why she was offered a place on the league, her healing and her morals and her connection with the Whisper Man, and she resents it desperately even as she accepts.

Then Wonder Woman -- her inspiration, the reason she became a hero at all -- asks her to spar. With swords. Alanna is a prodigy with swords. It has been a long, long time since she's lost a bout -- and it'll be a little bit longer. Wonder Woman is _fantastic_ with a sword, wields it like an extension of herself, but the Lioness is that barest bit better. She wins, and she has _never_ felt so powerful.


	5. More Chrestomanci!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat's perspective, this time. Sorry this is so short; I lost momentum partway through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some inspiration comes from Minutia R's fic Holding the Title.

Cat is twenty-two, and he is trying on Chrestomanci for size. It’s not permanent. It’s part of his training. Christopher -- he can’t bring himself to think of him as Chrestomanci, not while he’s holding the title -- wants him to know what it’s like, even if he’s nowhere near ready to retire. Which is just as well, since Cat doesn’t feel like he’ll be ready to take up the title for a long time. 

They’re in the middle of discussing the difficulties of the title when Cat is abruptly _not there_. He just barely remembers to cast the appropriate spells in time -- tracking, because not everyone can feel where people are the way he can; status, so they know he’s not dead -- before he is deposited gently behind a young man tied to a chair in the middle of an unfamiliar pentagram in an otherwise empty room. Somewhere in the distance, there is chanting. An almost oppressive sense of malicious magic saturates the air. 

As he watches, startled, the man finishes untying himself, stands up, and pulls out a belt and narrow cylinder from his sleeves. The belt goes around his waist; the cylinder snaps out into a staff. Cat’s not sure why he was called; this man seems well on his way rescuing himself. Still… Somewhat apologetically, Cat clears his throat.

The man whirls around, falling into what he presumes is a battle-ready stance. Cat has never been one for physical fighting; he’s never had to be. 

“Who are you?” The man demands suspiciously. He sounds American, and now that he’s facing him, Cat can see that he’s wearing something he would expect to see on Janet’s world; an old, oversized sweater with the faded legend _Gotham Knights_ , grey sweatpants, and ratty trainers. 

“Er.” Well, this is awkward. “Chrestomanci, currently.” 

This gets him an instant narrowing of the eyes. “And I’m supposed to believe that you’re a character from a novel, and not a member of the group that grabbed me?” 

Cat feels his eyes go wide. “I’m a _what?_ ” He yelps.


	6. YJ plays SBURB

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Young Justice characters play SBURB and promptly nope right out of it. Then become superheroes.

They hadn’t won the game. (Has anyone ever won the game?) Instead, they forced it to expel them. They hadn’t known exactly what the result would be, but Kal thought it would be worth it, and… well, he was their leader for a reason. They trusted his judgement and his Sight. (And anything, anything would be better than this.)

 

 

Being literally reborn was messy and gross and being a baby was messy and gross and Richard wished he could jump ahead to when he had fine motor control, except that that would mean even an instant less time with his parents and that was unacceptable.

 

As soon as he was able, he snuck away – laughably easy for the Rogue of Void – and paid a visit to the current city’s public library. _loquaciousAerialist_ existed on the internet once more. He found quickly that, while Kal, Conner, and Megan had, worryingly, absolutely no internet presence, the other four were easy enough to find.

 

 

 

Your name is ROY HARPER and you have LIVED TWO LIVES. In your last life, you and your friends played a GAME which DESTROYED THE WORLD. You are an ORPHAN, but that’s okay, because you were an orphan in your last life, too. You are USED TO IT. You have few interests, but those you do have include ARCHERY and COLLECTING ANIMAL BONES. You don’t kill the animals yourself, of course, but when you find dead things you use your AWESOME TIME POWERS to AGE THEM until they are NOTHING BUT BONES. These powers come from being the THIEF OF TIME, and are the only proof you have that your memories are REAL. Well, that and your FRIENDS.

Your screen name is coquelicotCynic, and you used to preface your text with a LITTLE ARROW »-->, but you stopped because it was EXTREMELY CHILDISH.

What will you do?

 

Roy’s second life is nearly identical to his first, except for the superheroes. He can only find Wally online, which is worrying, but they guess that just because _their_ age difference is the same doesn’t mean that the others weren’t born younger this time, and anyway, Dick at least is the baby of the group and too young to be online yet. They steadfastly ignore the possibility that they are the only ones back.

Anyway, things are the same. His parents are dead, Brave Bow took him in, he took up archery, he’s awesome at it. The end.

Then Brave Bow dies.

That... didn’t happen before.

 

 

Roy takes the news that he’s a clone fairly well, considering. It’s just like being a time clone. He’s been a time clone before. And what do time clones do? They help the original. Roy figures his job is pretty clear. Now, he just has to find him.

 

“So,” Roy’s clone says, “What’s the agenda?” And Roy is bewildered because… what agenda? He doesn’t have an agenda. Except maybe to get his fucking life back, but, well… he can’t see that happening any time soon. He can’t exactly kill his clone and take his place, or, or, _reabsorb_ him or something. And he’s not about to say ‘Taking your place’, not to the guy who is the only reason he was unfrozen in the first place. Especially because he gets the feeling that this guy would _actually try to make it happen._

“ _Agenda?_ What makes you think I have a plan? I don’t have a plan! Why do I have to be the one with the plan? You’re older!” It doesn’t even occur to him that they might not be in this together, working as a team against whatever life throws at them next.

The clone (Ugh. He really needs a better way to think of him.) gives him an uncomprehending look. “You’re the original.” Like it’s all the answer he needs.

It is not all the answer Roy needs.

 

 

Wally’s first assumption is that this is an entirely new slate. A new life naturally comes with new parents, right? He doesn’t connect _West_ with his mother’s maiden name until he’s introduced to _Aunt_ Iris.

 

Barry Allen absolutely adores his nephew. He’s super sweet and so so smart and passionate about science... and when he’s eight, he accidentally calls Barry _dad._ That – that’s when he starts to get concerned.

 

 

 

When Tula and Garth finally tell him that they’re together, Kal firmly tells himself that he is, essentially, much older than her, anyway.

“Congratulations,” He says. “I’m happy for you.” And he smiles and tries to mean it. It’s hard, but… not as hard as it could be. Yes. He can get through this. He _will_ get through this. For now… For now, he has a team to run and lifelong friends to fall back on. He will return to the surface, where everything makes more and less sense. His smile firms. _In time, this too shall pass._

 

 

Jade is almost out the door when her little sister speaks up. “Jade? Would you do something for me?”

She turns back. It was Artemis’s decision to stay here, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling guilty. She’s essentially abandoning her little sister, after all. “Anything, little sis.” As usual, Artemis makes a face at being called _little,_ and the normalcy is oddly reassuring.

“You have the abilities to do a lot of good. Do a little for me?” And that’s the kind of too-grown-up thing she should honestly be expecting from her sister by now.

“I’ll... do my best, okay?”

 

Cheshire has just finished a job and is on her way back to base when she spots it. A battle, Black Canary surrounded by some sort of rage monsters, hopelessly outnumbered and struggling to draw the fight away from fleeing civilians. She pauses, hesitating, eyes flickering from the hero to those she protects. Her sister's voice echoes in her ear. _You have the abilities to do a lot of good…_ Cheshire lets fly a series of poison darts. With any luck, she won't even have to show herself. The hero doesn't need to know who came to her aid. 

_...do a little for me?_

 

(Later, Dinah Lance takes a very distinctive dart to her friend Bruce, and asks him to identify it for her.)


	7. Tim; A/B/O

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim may have been designated omega at presentation, but that doesn't mean he actually is one.

Tim was officially designated a _he_ at thirteen, when it became clear that he wasn't developing breasts. That was also when he presented, and he was designated _omega_ at the same time. He wasn't sure how he felt about his new pronouns; _they_ was comfortable, familiar, and he certainly wasn't one of those people who just _knew_ before puberty what they were. He knew how he felt about being an omega, though: he hated it. He hated the way people treated him now, as if he were somehow suddenly fragile; he hated the way his parents suddenly changed their plans for his future -- gone were the plans for him to take over Drake Industries one day; now he was expected to marry up, find some suitable alpha -- or beta, even -- to run the company for him while he played dutiful house husband or followed them about and supported their interests, like his dad. 

(“Perhaps that Grayson boy,” his mother murmured. “He's Bruce Wayne's ward -- plenty of money. And word is that he's got a solid head on his shoulders, not like his guardian.”

Dick… wouldn't be so bad, all things considered, but Tim knew more about Dick Grayson than his mother did, and he knew that Dick prefered other alphas. And, well. Aliens, but then Koriand’r may just be a special case. Tim refrained from telling her this.)

He hated the way he smelled, now, sugar-sweet and cloying. He hated his instincts, the way he was never sure what was _him_ and what was his designation forcing things on him. He hated… everything, everything about being an omega. 

He hated it so much that he had to force himself not to think about it too deeply for very long. And then his parents left again and he's too young for heats still, so the whole thing settled into a kind of background misery, awful but non-urgent. It was in good company; he'd been low-level miserable for years, and he'd become quite adept at not thinking about it. 

Then Jason died. Everything happened in a whirl: watching Batman spiral, going to Dick, going to Bruce, saving their lives, becoming Robin -- he didn't have room to grieve, let alone think about gender, and he put those thoughts aside for quite a while. 

(Being Robin is wonderful wonderful wonderful, with scent-blockers protecting his identity and no one, not even Dick and Bruce and Alfred, _no one_ treats him like an omega.)


End file.
